With Every Move I Die
by ActressForLife
Summary: Dancing has been Eames' only escape. Sort of stream of consciousness. Arthur/Eames. Angsty. Songfic, sort of. T for language and implied sexual themes.


**A/N: **This is pretty much pure angst. I don't know if I'm happy with it or not. But it was a piece of angst I needed to get out, another ficlet that wouldn't leave me alone. Anyway, lyrics are from the song "Dancing With Tears In My Eyes" by Ke$ha. All right go to her. Characters are owned by Christopher Nolan, I'm not making money, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Dancing has always been Eames escape. His one true, free escape. Dreaming is all good and well, but it couldn't hold a candle to dancing. Feeling the heavy beat, grinding, dropping, shimmying up and down. It was the most unplanned thing he was ever able to do. Arthur, of course, hated it. But it was something he couldn't give up, _wouldn't_ give up. No matter how much be loved his point man, dancing was a part of him.

Clubbing went hand in hand with dancing. Drinking went with clubbing. Another reason Arthur hated Eames obsession with dance. Arthur didn't like to drink. He _said_ it was because he didn't like the taste, it made him light-headed, his job didn't give him time to recover from hangovers. Eames knew that was bullshit. He knew Arthur better than anyone else in the world, and Arthur wouldn't let himself admit it. Drinking loosened Arthur up. He was a complete light-weight and if he had more than two drinks he started to admit things he didn't want people to know. And he did that every time he drank with Eames. He knew that Eames knew everything there was to know about him. He tried to blame the alcohol and he claimed Eames dragged him along when he went dancing so he could wheedle information out of Arthur. More bullshit. Eames knew how amazing dancing made him feel, and all he wanted was to share that with Arthur. Eames wanted Arthur to be happy. He loved him for God's sake. Arthur never really understood that.

Eames wasn't always good with emotion. He joked too much at the wrong times. He wasn't serious when Arthur needed him to be. He was affectionate when it embarrassed Arthur. He never quite said the right thing. Sometimes he flirted too much with other people. He was a big ball of contradictions and that bothered Arthur to no end. He couldn't organize Eames. He couldn't make the flamboyant man make sense. And it grated at Arthur's nerves.

But dancing was the catalyst. Dancing was the last straw for Arthur. All Eames wanted was to go and unwind after they finished a job. Arthur was sleep-deprived. He was stressed because the job hadn't gone perfectly. He was testy and Eames' declaration that he was going dancing "whether or not his stick in the mud was going to join him" just made Arthur snap. He started screaming that all Eames wanted want to go and get drunk and throw himself all over other men. He said that Eames wanted to flirt and be around anyone who wasn't Arthur. He ranted and raved that Eames didn't love him, that Eames wasn't good enough for him, that he hated Eames. And he left. He stormed out of their flat, slamming the door decisively. Eames was in shock. He didn't realize that the love of his life had just left him. He didn't know how to handle the gaping hole that had just appeared in his chest. He unconsciously felt for his totem, the forged poker chip lying heavy in his hand. He looked at it, took in every minute detail that he had created. Felt the precise weight of it in his hand. And he knew…he knew that he was awake. That Arthur had left him. Had said he hated him and _left_ him. And he didn't know what to do.

He stopped thinking. He couldn't think anymore or he would do…God knew what. He knew that he had to get out, to get away, to escape. He knew the only way he could do that. He grabbed his car keys up and was out the door before he could stop to think. He drove to the nearest club he could think of, paid the cover charge, and went it. He ordered a shot, knocked it back, and followed it straight up with another one. No more thinking. Just booze and music and movement. Anything to stop the hurt, to let him escape and forget.

He pushed his way to the middle of the floor and just moved. He moved because it was natural, because it was right. He half-realized the utter irony that he was in the middle of a dance floor, trying to forget Arthur, when this whole thing was exactly what Arthur had left him over. He let out a bitter laugh and forced himself further into the music. _Here we go, welcome to my funeral._ He dipped and swayed._Without you I don't even have a pulse. _He grinded and gyrated._All alone it's dark and cold. With every move I die._

Eames wasn't taking a partner tonight._Here I go, this is my confessional._ He didn't dance to pick people up nor to take them home._A lost cause, nobody can save my soul. _He danced for _him, _and no one else._I am so delusional__, w__ith every move I die._ He wasn't the type for one night stands. Not anymore._I have destroyed our love, it's gone._ Once upon a time he had been. _Payback is sick, it's all my fault._ But then Arthur had shown up. Arthur had reformed him._I'm dancing with tears in my eyes._ Arthur had forged the forger, made him into a man worth being._Just fighting to get through the night._ Arthur had seen Eames' potential. Eames fell in love with him for that._I'm losing it._ Eames danced harder, faster. Trying to forget the pain._With every move I die._ But it wasn't working._I'm fading, I'm broken inside. _Why wasn't it working?_I've wasted the love of my life._ Eames tuned into the lyrics of the song he was dancing to._I'm losing it._ He didn't know why. He had never cared about the words._With every move I die._ Only the beat, the feeling._When did I become such a hypocrite?_ These words were…too much. He couldn't handle it. _Double life, lies that you caught me in. _He was a forger, a liar. He was whoever he wanted to be._Trust me I'm paying for it._ But that wasn't quite true anymore…was it?_With every move I die._ Tears were welling in Eames' eyes._On the floor I'm just a zombie._ He pushed them back. He pushed away the words. Focused on the music._Who I am is not who I wanna be._ Everything had been so perfect. He tried to lose himself in the beat again. _I'm such a tragedy._ Eames had hated himself when Arthur found him._With every move I die._ He hadn't been worth anything, and he knew it._I have destroyed our love, it's gone._ Quickie fucks in the bathrooms of clubs._Payback is sick, it's all my fault. _No real emotion, no real feeling._I'm dancing with tears in my eyes._ He could try to blame it on his fucked up childhood._Just fighting to get through the night._ But the truth was, he had liked it at first. The sex, the gritty, dirty feeling of it all._I'm losing it._ Those men had wanted him, had needed him body and the release he could provide._With every move I die._ He'd loved the fucking. The touching, rough and lustful._I'm fading, I'm broken inside. _And then there had been Arthur._I've wasted the love of my life._ Arthur had been different. Pushing Eames away before it became frenzied._I'm losing it. _Small smiles, not letting Eames push him._With every move I die._ Arthur showed him how amazing life could really be._This is it and now you're really gone this time._ Arthur had taught him what love was._Never once thought I'd be in pieces left behind._ And it had all gone to hell in a handbasket._I'm dancing with tears in my eyes. _The words in the music came back to him._Just fighting to get through the night._ It was too much. The tears returned, but they couldn't be stopped this time._I'm losing it._ Eames couldn't handle it. He ran, tears spilling everywhere._With every move I die. _This fucking song…these fucking words…they were telling him everything he didn't want to hear, didn't want to acknowledge. He ran._I'm fading, I'm broken inside._ Arthur was gone._I've wasted the love of my life. _Arthur had left. And while they had fought before, it had never been like that. The tears were still flowing, hot and salty._I'm losing it._ Eames didn't know who he was anymore. He didn't know who he was supposed to be without Arthur. It wasn't worth it anymore. He found himself outside, sliding down against a concrete wall in an alleyway._With every move I die. _He had lost what defined him. Curled up on the ground, crying and whimpering, Eames realized something.

Nothing was worth it without Arthur. Nothing was real anymore. Snatches of the music kept running through his head. But they didn't inspire him anymore.

He hated it. He hated dancing. He hated everything that reminded him of the time before Arthur. Because before Arthur, Eames hadn't been worth anything. He had been floating, exiting. Arthur made him live.

_With every move I die._

Eames couldn't live without Arthur.

_With every move I die._

Because there was nothing left without Arthur.

_With every move I die._

Nothing…

_With every move I die._

"I want to die," he whispered. He curled in on himself, not seeing the lone figure standing at the end of the alleyway.


End file.
